They say the opposite of love is not hate

It’s just indifference


And because

those who seem to love me

those who really know me enough to love me

seem so few and far between

They say the opposite of love is not hate

It’s just indifference


And because

those who seem to love me

those who really know me enough to love me

seem so few and far between

That I wish to be hated

wish for angry looks

eye rolls


not just




I don’t think

I have ever been hated

not really, truly hated

yes, I’ve been disliked


Have had people turn away


But it was more like disinterest

standing in the rain


For someone to look my way


And I know this sounds like I’m just

Waiting to be discovered

But maybe it’s more like

I’m waiting to discover

Waiting to find a way to be hated


Waiting to find a way

To stop crying alone in my room

With my cat

And pocket fulls of those

Awful Fig Newtons

My friend’s mother

Keeps giving to me

But I’m too polite to refuse


And someday

I know

I will be hated

I look forward

To having someone look me in the eye

And say


You are such a bitch


And I’m not delusional enough to think

That someone hasn’t said that

about me


But I want them to say it

to my face


Because every once in awhile

It’s nice to know that you matter

It’s nice to know that

someone cares enough about me

To hate me


Because the one thing I cannot stand

Is apathy


To be ignored

To be forgotten


And I look forward to that day

Because right now I feel all that I am doing

Is looking backwards

At all the incredibly awkward

Things I have said

or done


And although in those

Twelve whole years I’ve been alive

It doesn’t seem like there would be enough time

For so many unspoken words


But somehow there is

And maybe it’s just the hormones

coursing through my veins

Or the fact that I spend

So much of my time

In my room

Reading about long dead urban planners


But sometimes I feel like I should just stop




Because sometimes

All those words

Seem to just pile up


Like that shrine of stuffed animals

I have under my bed


And eventually get forgotten

Or I get lost in the thoughts

I climb under my bed

And hide in those stuffed animals




Because sometimes it’s good to be six years old again

But sometimes it’s also good

To crawl out from

Under my bed

Bring those thoughts


Into the light


Because maybe if I bring one of those

old stuffed animals

Out into the light

And give it to my cat

She may hate it

But also

What if she loves it?


And even if you are hated

It’s better than collecting dust

Underneath my bed


And if you’ve survived this incredible

Dose of angst


Maybe some of it makes sense?



Being hated sucks

I’ve watched mean girls enough times

To attest that that’s probably true


But sometimes if you hate something

Oh so much

It’s easier to start to love it

Then not to care?


And maybe because

I’m a chronic idealist


I believe that if everyone just started to care


If everyone dropped that shield of apathy

And indifference


Maybe some things would get better


My father once told me

That the best people

Are those who think about something

Besides people

Besides caring what someone else does

Or thinks


And I agree

I have met some really shitty people

Who I can’t help but admire

Because they know what they love

And they love what they know

Because it’s nice to see someone

Who loves


But I also disagree

With what my father

Told me

Because sometimes it’s good

to think

About people

Sometimes it’s good to know

People are thinking about you


But I think

What he really meant

was that I shouldn’t let

The people

Become me


It’s good to care

It’s great


But I don’t want that feeling

To become me


And since my claustrophobia

And my introversion

Clearly mandate

That sometimes

I need space


if only everyone just took a second

To notice

Maybe they could



And I’m not saying

That everyone

Has to love



I mean

Somethings about me

Are pretty

Worthy to hate


Like all those times

I ignore the recycling bin

Or the fact that I

Take an hour to decide

What kind of candy

I want in my junk drawer


But there are some things

To love about everyone


Like the time I cried

For hours after accidentally

Killing a spider

Or when I organized

My cabin to recite

Howl by Allen Ginsberg


But when everyone is

So complicated

The one thing

We shouldn’t do

Is not to notice


Don’t let the possibility

Of hate

Overwhelm you


Because you know

At the end of Mean Girls

Kady is loved

Once again


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *